Wolf Shadows
by Olympus Spirit
Summary: Stiles discovers that his mother Claudia was really 'Carolyn'. His mysterious cousin: David Collins has invited him to come live at Collinwood. Stiles has hopes of escaping the supernatural existence Beacon Hills has become, but little does he realize he has jumped out of the frying pan, into the fire. What will he learn about his mother's past, and is it worth the price?
1. Chapter 1

His name was Stiles Stilinski. His journey was beginning...

Proceeding it had been his entire life until present. His previous life had been in Beacon Hills, California- a place of love, loss, friendship, terror, pain...

Stiles knew now that he was exactly like Derek, in almost every bad way.

Derek had never known what could have been with his family. Stiles had never known his mother. She'd died when he was very young.

That was why this new journey must begin. Only recently had Stiles learned how little he'd truly known about his mother...

The train gave a bump on the tracks, bringing Stiles to the surface of his thoughts. He watched the thick woods of Maine go by his window, bounding further and further north.

His mind went back to what had started him on this journey.

He could almost picture it again- the kitchen of his dad's house, drinking coffee early Tuesday last week.

High school was over for him. His dad had given up insisting he get a job.

Stiles just wanted a break. All the supernatural stuff had tormented him for too long. He and Scott had decided going their own ways was best, considering everything he'd done...

His dad had come into the kitchen that morning carrying a letter for him. Stiles could barely conceal his surprise when he saw the address:

 **David Collins**

 **No. 1 Widows' Hill**

 **Collinsport, Maine 99874**

Stiles turned the envelope and studied it strangely. Who would be writing to him from Maine? He'd never heard of Collinsport...

He noted just then that his dad looked uncomfortable, and was tinkering with something on the counter distractedly.

Stiles shakily opened the letter and gripped the folded paper inside.

 **Dear Cousin,**

 **It may seem strange to receive a letter from someone you don't remember, but I still remember you...**

 **I'm your Uncle David. Your father would insist on calling your dear mother Claudia, but she will always be Carolyn to me.**

 **For you see, Carolyn was her name...**

 **None of us were especially happy when she left for California to be with a man she'd only met on vacation there.**

 **Still we accepted it. Her loss touched us as deeply as it did you, and I've thought about you since.**

 **I'll be alone soon. My father Roger is sick, and my cousin Barnabas left the old house some time ago. That's the other house on the estate...**

 **This house is called Collinwood Manor. Its an old house, now over 200 years in age. I'd be delighted if you would come stay with me, and there's so much I could tell you about your mother.**

 **Please reply using the enclosed first class envelope, and I'd be glad to provide your train ticket.**

 **I do hope you will consider it.**

 **Your Cousin,**

 **David**

Stiles immediately asked his dad why he'd never mentioned his Maine relatives.

John sighed and matted his hair distractedly, explaining that his mother's family was very different.

He conceeded her real name had been Carolyn, but she herself had wanted to forget the past...

Stiles knew his dad could be right to be reluctant, but something about knowing his mother's family appealed to him.

Besides, would his mother have wanted her cousin to be alone?

Stiles felt there were nothing for him in Beacon Hills in the near future, at any rate.

He decided to take a chance. He'd sent his reply first class the next day, and it wasn't two days later he was clutching his train ticket. One way to Collinsport, Maine...

The train bumped again, and Stiles wondered if he were nearly there. The train ride had been nearly three days. He'd taken long trips before, but not like this...

He caught one of the train attendants coming up the aisle.

"Will we be in Collinsport soon?"

"About thirty minutes," the conductor told him. "Give or take."

Stiles thanked him. He decided he'd better get his bag down from the luggage rack.

He took his cell phone from his pocket and started the text to his dad, saying he was about to arrive.

Surprisingly, the attendant had been somewhat off.

"Collinsport ten minutes," the conductor announced over the intercom. "Please be ready with your bags. The train has no layovers. Repeat: this stop is dropping off passengers only..."

Stiles lugged his tote bag over his shoulder and carefully descended the steps to the lower level. The attendant there eyed him in slight surprise.

"Collinsport?" he asked skeptically. "We haven't dropped off there in..."

However, the man didn't say.

Stiles only had moments to ponder it before the train screeched to a halt.

"Collinsport!" the conductor's voice reported. "Please be ready to exit if Collinsport is your stop."

The door was opened and Stiles carefully stepped onto the platform.

No wonder the attendant had been surprised. This looked like the dead middle of nowhere...

He was the only one getting off. Already the train door had been slammed too, and the engine shifted loudly.

Stiles was distracted from this by a car coming up the road. The only car he could see. Was that his ride?

An ancient looking man whose face was like a raisin with thin whisps of hair stepped out of the driver's side.

"Mr. Stilinski?" he asked raspily.

"That'd be me!" Stiles replied easily enough.

The old man gave him a skeptical once over and gestured to the vehicle with his thumb.

"I'm Mr. Loomis," his voice crackled. "Mr. Collins sent me to getcha..."

Stiles nodded simply and tossed his bag in the back seat. He got in next to it, deciding he'd rather not sit next to the shriveled figure in the front.

Mr. Loomis eyed him as though suspecting this, but said nothing. Soon they were off.

The seeming remoteness of the train station gave way to a main road with a Gulf gas station, and several stores. This didn't look so bad...

There were roads leading into subdivisions and neighborhoods where the houses were more spaced out. Some of the roads led out of town.

Stiles wondered where this Collinwood was. Then he took note they were leaving town.

"Hey," he said nervously to Mr. Loomis. "Aren't we..."

"Its outside town," the old man replied with a grunt. "Just ahead..."

The car turned left onto a dirt lane called Widows' Hill Road. The road went at somewhat of an incline.

Stiles thought he could see towers above and ahead.

Sure enough, the car ascended the crest and there was a house- the biggest Stiles had ever seen.

It was clearly ancient. Many of the bricks were rusted, and clearly it needed a new paint job...

The car pulled to a stop in front of two great oak doors with rusty, ancient knockers.

"Mr. Collins is expectin' ya," the old man said in his wheezy crackle. "Just knock. I gotta park the car. I'll take your bag up for ya..."

"No thanks," Stiles said.

The old man gave him a withering glare.

"Suit ya'self..."

He stepped out and the car pulled off slowly, turning with the house.

Stiles watched it go. He could hardly believe it, now that he was here. This was a big and obviously old house!

He stepped toward the oaken doors and knocked carefully.

The door creaked open and a tall man with brown hair, clearly in his 40s met his gaze with expressive brown eyes.

"Uncle?"

The man smiled slyly.

"Come in Stiles..."

Stiles stepped into the ancient looking foyer, like something out of a Middle Ages picture book. To his right were carpeted stairs leading to a second floor.

Ahead and to his left were two doors, also oak- opening into a homely looking living room with a roaring fireplace. It was more like a parlor.

His uncle held out his hand, and Stiles handed over his tote not to seem rude.

Uncle David placed it at the foot of the stairs.

"Willie will take it," he said with a small smile, clearly trying to be inviting.

Stiles managed a smile back, figuring Willie was the old man.

"Come into the drawing room cousin," David invited, leading the way before him.

Stiles stepped forward, not knowing what his life might be from then on out...


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles was even more surprised by the beautiful simplicity of the drawing room, as he followed behind David. It wasn't a particularly large room, but it had a homely feel to it. He was reminded again of a parlor.

The walls had wood panels that looked quite ancient. There was also a wardrobe, and a large window open to a gentle breeze.

Stiles was drawn to the window. He looked out, hearing now another sound besides the breeze. The sound of waves crashing against a beach...

He even thought he could see a seashore through the branches just outside the window.

"Quite a view huh?" David spoke.

Stiles jumped a little, having forgotten his cousin's presence for the moment.

"Yes," he said with a small smile. "I like it."

"You wouldn't be your mother's son if you didn't like this house," David remarked with a small smile of his own.

Stiles became thoughtful, and his whiskey eyes seemed distant- like he was on the shore by the sea he was still gazing out toward.

"What do you mean?" he asked quietly and curiously.

"Collinwood is an old house," David replied simply. "It seems to run as thick and deep as the Collins blood itself. Your mother was a Collins you know. Half way...so are you Stiles."

Stiles didn't know why he felt a slight tingle down his back at the information. His mouth dropped open a little in that way of his.

"Tell me then," David cut into his thoughts again. "What's California like?"

"Well where I'm from," Stiles began casually, turning back toward the room, and walking toward the fireplace with its dancing flames. "Its a lot like this actually. Beacon Hills is in northern California. Lots of forests like this."

"I see," his cousin replied. "I'd like to see it one day."

"Maybe you can," Stiles remarked simply.

David gave him a smile, clapping him on the shoulder.

"I really am glad you're here Stiles. I can already see we're going to be good friends. Would you like to meet your Uncle Roger, my father?"

Stiles got a strange look in his eyes. He didn't know why he felt hesitant suddenly.

"No that's alright," he said carefully. "Maybe later. Can I see my room?"

"If you'd like," his cousin said, just a tad more stiffly now.

Stiles followed his uncle- though not really an uncle. Cousin David was just so much older...

They were back in the foyer, and Stiles noticed something on the wall by the front doors he hadn't seen coming in. It was a painting...

He found himself walking toward it. It captivated him for some reason.

The man in the painting had cropped black hair, and a somewhat lined face. His lips jutted out into a stern, proud scowl that wouldn't look off on Derek's face.

Stiles noted the obviously costly jewelry, particularly a black ring on the man's finger.

"Barnabas," David said simply, answering Stiles's unspoken question. "The first Barnabas Collins. My cousin's ancestor."

Stiles nodded, and decided he didn't care for the portrait very much. He turned away from it, and David led him once more.

They went up the carpeted steps onto a landing that led to the main hall of the second floor.

There were several doors both on the left and right of them. They were all ancient and wooden like the front doors.

David opened the last door to the left. There was a door at the end of the hall, but Stiles got a funny feeling about it.

He entered what he assumed was his bedroom. There were draperies in the window that looked 19th century. Fascinating...

The bed looked even more antique than that.

"Your room," David said. "Dinner is at seven, if you would join me."

"Course," Stiles agreed.

"I'll leave you here to settle in," David told him, before closing the door behind him.

Stiles noted now his bags were already by the bed. Willie must have brought them- or Mr. Loomis...

There was something funny about Willie that Stiles couldn't place.

Come to think of it. The house was beautiful, but there was something off about it.

He took a sudden interest in an old dresser by the door. Everything in the house was beautiful, and it was no exception. It was ornately carved with all kinds of etchings and patterns.

Stiles ran his finger down the wood, wondering how many centuries it had really seen. He opened the top drawer, deciding he wanted a look.

He almost jumped to see a gold cylinder-like object in there. Something made him reach for it. It had a lid that would probably lift up.

Did he want to look inside?

Yet when he lifted the lid there was nothing...at first. Then a soft, tinkling melody began to play. A music box!

He found himself being drawn into that gentle repeating music. He'd never heard such a tune.

It reminded him of things. He walked to his bed, allowing it to still play, and placed it on his bedside stand.

The music kept repeating, but it never became any less captivating.

It reminded him...of Malia. No...Lydia. Derek...

That snapped him out of it. He shut the lid quickly.

He'd been thinking about Derek like...

Like he might think of Malia or Lydia...

He felt slight confusion and something else. Something he'd surely known was there. This feeling hadn't just come into being because of the music.

He let his hand open the lid again, and as that gentle song filled him again, he thought of New York. It must not be far south of Maine.

He thought of Derek. He let himself think it...

The music box's enchanting, tinkling melody kept playing over and over...


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles had meant to go down to dinner. He really didn't mean to fall asleep, but his bed was so comfortable. Was it a feather mattress?

That was his last thoughts as he drifted into sleep in the late afternoon at Collinwood.

It had been so easy to sleep there, far away from Beacon Hills, which seemed to put great distance between his mental torments as well.

Here in Collinwood, far from California...

The Nogitsune might never have existed...

Stiles slept on as the shadows of evening fell over his bedroom.

Some time after dinner David came in- curious if his cousin might be avoiding him. Then he saw Stiles asleep. The younger man looked...

Peaceful.

David smiled somewhat bittersweetly. Stiles really did look like Carolyn in his way.

He carefully pulled the door to when he left, so as not to wake the boy.

There was something Stiles should know about this house. He had a right to know...

David justified his silence ultimately- telling himself his younger cousin had only just arrived here. It wouldn't be right to burden him...

Maybe he need never know...

David went back to the drawing room.

Night fell, blanketing the great house completely in shadow.

The wind picked up after ten o'clock, and the shutters began to creak ominously.

Stiles awoke to the great whirling of wind with a yawn. Then what he heard chilled him to the bone.

He thought he heard forlorn, barely discernable moaning in the wind. It was like voices wailing!

Stiles clicked on his bedside lamp. His heart was beating furiously. He needed to get it together...

He caught sight of the music box, right where he'd left it on his bedside stand.

When he lifted the lid the gentle, playful melody weakened the howling winds. Relief flooded him, along with that odd melancholy the tinkling music seemed to cause.

He closed his eyes and lost himself in the soothing music.

The lid suddenly flapped shut, causing him to jerk his head toward the sound.

Something zipped across his line of vision. He could have sworn it did...

He couldn't have seen what he thought! He thought he'd saw a woman with shoulder length brunette hair looking at him. The woman had been wearing a long green lab coat.

He also kept getting the image of her holding a golden, sparking medallion dangling from a chain. Had he seen it?

Something had shut the music box...

He decided to get up and grab something to eat. He could probably find the kitchen alright.

He felt bad for missing dinner. Hopefully David hadn't taken it personally...

The hall was still and quiet. It was almost eerie.

Stiles found himself drawn to the door at the hall's end like earlier in the day. What was behind it?

Something seemed to warn him against finding out. It was just a feeling.

He made his way down the stairs, noting the drawing room doors were open. Maybe David was still up?

He made for the open doors and gasped audibly- certain at first he was seeing another apparition.

An elderly old man that wasn't Mr Loomis was sitting in a motorized scooter, back to the fireplace, and staring him down directly.


	4. Chapter 4

The old man was still looking at Stiles. He had a very stern face. The fire jumping in the drawing room grate behind him didn't help the image.

"Hi," Stiles said, managing a smile because he thought it was the most polite thing to do.

"Hello," the man paused. "Stiles Stilinski..."

Stiles blinked strangely at his name being spoken so sternly and directly.

"Roger Collins," the old man said in that stiff way of his, before anything more was said. "I'm David's father, and your great uncle."

"Great uncle?" Stiles asked strangely.

Roger looked suddenly downcast for some reason. He pressed the button, making his motorized scooter turn him back toward the fire.

"Your mother was my niece," Roger went on, back turned to him. "I loved her...very much."

There wasn't the slighest change in the stiffness of the tone, but the meaning wasn't lost on Stiles.

"I loved her too," Stiles said with a slight skip, finding he suddenly related to great uncle Roger very well.

"I should hope so," Roger replied with bland irony. "Forgive me if I sound ironic. I used to call your mother, kitten..."

"Kitten," Stiles repeated skeptically.

"Yes, Stiles Stilinski. For the love of your mother, I would do anything for you, except call you puppy..."

Stiles laughed in spite of himself, and when the scooter turned again, Roger was smiling very charmingly and agreeably. His entire manner had changed.

"Well thanks...Uncle Roger."

It still sounded odd to Stiles to acknowledge relatives he'd hardly been aware existed a few days ago.

"You're welcome young man," Roger said formally. "You know, its odd how things sometimes repeat in the most unexpected ways."

With that Roger steered the scooter over to a certain portrait hanging on the wall. The portrait was of a woman with brown hair in a tight bun. Her eyes looked very sad in a way, yet also fierce and proud. Her lipstick was blood red, and she was wearing a black business dress with a white collar.

Stiles was certain the business dress was something from by-gone years.

"My sister," Roger spoke, studying the portrait with something near reverence. "Elizabeth Collins Stoddard. She was the master of this house, and your grandmother."

Stiles almost jumped out of his sneakers at that, studying the portrait with a strange longing now.

"My...grandmother..."

"Yes," Roger said with a slight nod. "She was my dearest and only sister- my most fierce rival..."

Stiles looked at the old man with a question in his eyes.

"What about my coming here," Stiles paused, unsure of how to word what he would say for a few moments. "Makes you think...of the past? That's the impression you gave."

"A correct one," Roger agreed. "Your grandmother brought a woman named Victoria Winters to this house. She was David's governess when he was a boy. It turns out, she was also my niece, though I never knew it- and your aunt."

Stiles wasn't sure what to say. His mouth fell open slightly in that way of his.

"I remind you of her?" he asked somewhat confusedly. "Why?"

"She never knew her family," Roger said. "She grew up in a New York foundling home. While it may be true you knew of us Stiles, you- like she, have never actually known us."

"I guess I see what you mean," Stiles replied. "I'm here now. I am my mother's son, and I do want to know you."

"We want to know you too," Roger said with that agreeable smile again. "Now since we have met...Stiles Stilinski- do you have any questions?"

Stiles thought carefully, and a strange look came into his eyes.

"I do actually. I found a music box in my room. Obviously very old..."

Recognition crept across Roger's face.

"Josette's music box," he said simply. "Your Aunt Vicky accepted it as a gift from Barnabas Collins. I think it'll be in good hands with you, if you like it..."

"It plays nice music," Stiles explained.

"It does have a rather distinct tune," Roger agreed.

Stiles looked a little uncertain, and maybe even nervous suddenly. He was thinking of the ghost he'd seen. Should he ask about that?

He decided he probably shouldn't...

"I think I'll try to sleep again," Stiles told his uncle. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight Stiles," Roger replied curtly. "Glad to have met you."

Stiles paused in the doorway of the drawing room and managed a real genuine half-smile this time.

"You too," he said.

oooooOoooooOoooooOooooo

Preview: In upcoming chapters, Stiles learns who the ghost could be, and meets the rivals of the family from the nearby town of Logansport: the Logan family. He soon learns the apparition and the Logan's may be connected in a way he doesn't expect.


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles yawned as the shadows of dream broke, becoming aware of the sunlight across his face.

He sat up, noting that his bedside clock showed 9:38am. That train ride had tired him out more than he'd thought...

The conservation of the night before with his great uncle came flooding back.

He wondered if anyone else would be up yet. At nearly ten am, surely...

Stiles proceeded to his suitcase. It was still where Willie had placed it. He took out his purple jeans and a black tee shirt.

He knew now that he'd come into a high class house. He'd known that as soon as arriving, but still- he wouldn't show David he was a slob by wearing what he'd worn yesterday...

He changed, and tossed the dirty clothes into his suitcase for now.

A spritz of hair spray at the dresser mirror, and a few touch ups with his comb and fingers. There...

He smiled at his reflection, giving his now perfect hair one last sweep with his hand.

He made his way down the hall and to the stairs. The drawing room door was slightly ajar, and he heard voices.

"What better deal will you get Mr. Collins?" a male voice asked smugly.

"The answer is no Patrick," David's voice replied.

Stiles approached slower, intently listening.

"Mr. Collins..."

"My son said no Logan!" Roger's voice boomed with fury. "We are not selling, and that's final! Least of all to you..."

There was an impending silence.

"Alright Mr. Collins," the man's voice relented. "If that's your answer..."

"Kindly see yourself from my house!" Roger thundered.

The drawing room door opened, and a man surely only a little older than Stiles walked out. He had spiked blond hair and blue eyes. His eyes were on Stiles.

"Hello," the man said strangely, managing a smile as he walked forward. "Don't think we've..."

"Stiles?" David interrupted with a slight frown, exiting the drawing room and turning to his blond guest.

The man merely smiled at David with a slight mirth in his blue eyes.

"Patrick Logan," David said rather stiffly. "Meet Stiles, my cousin. Stiles, this is Mr. Logan."

The blond extended his hand invitingly enough, and Stiles accepted.

"Sup?" he greeted casually.

Patrick Logan smiled even wider.

"Your cousin has quite the lingo," he remarked lightly.

"What of it?" Stiles asked with a slight coldness.

Patrick smirked and gave him a wink.

"Only that your cousin isn't used to young people speak," Patrick replied more easily, all formality gone from his tone. "Know what I mean man?"

Stiles snorted. He couldn't help it.

"Patrick Logan!" he exclaimed with a laugh. "If you could talk like me all this time- why the business tone?"

"Well I am a businessman," Patrick replied somewhat smugly. "We can't go saying wassup to potential clients."

"You're not a client," David cut in snappishly. "Goodbye!"

"As you wish," Patrick replied, retrieving a card and handing it to Stiles. "You're much friendlier company than these old stiffs. Give me a call if you ever wanna hang."

"Thanks man," Stiles said much more casually.

Patrick gave him a wave and let himself out by the front doors.

"He doesn't seem bad," Stiles remarked.

"I'm not trying to order you," David began. "I'd simply caution you about Patrick Logan. He comes from the family of our most fierce rivals."

"I can at least call him, can't I?"

"Oh Stiles," David sighed. "I'm not telling you that you can't. You're a grown man. Just be careful."

Stiles nodded and David smiled more easily.

"Now how about breakfast?" he offered. "I thought we might go out."

"Wow you mean it!?" Stiles asked, excited to see Collinsport.

"Absolutely," David said. "Come on."

Stiles followed him, wondering if his uncle drove, or if they'd be relying on Mr. Loomis again...


	6. Chapter 6

Patrick Logan smiled to himself in the back seat of his limo. They sped by the sign welcoming travelers to 'Logansport'.

Logansport: built in the 1800s to rival Collinsport at a time that the collapse of the Collins family seemed inevitable.

Unknown to many in Collinsport- Jeremiah Collins wasn't the ancestor of the present day family at all. Of course, the Logan's had their sources, and they were in the know.

No- Jeremiah had died in a duel to the death with Barnabas Collins. The Logan's knew this from coming into contact with the Collins family in the 1800s- though they maintained a distance...

In that time fishing and exports had been in their boom, and competition was hardly necessarily. The money circulated through the industry with the abudance of water.

Logansport and Collinsport grew and flourished side by side in the 19th century, with little need for competition.

However, the 20th century brought the invention of the airplane, extremely crippling the boat trade. Now add the foreign markets like Japan exporting seafood all over the world, and the rivalry with the Collins was a matter of survival or possible bankruptcy.

Patrick let his mind return to his earlier thought as the limo progressed on toward Loganwood, on the outskirts of town.

His ancestor: Tate Logan, had indeed had a sense of humor. He'd named their family house after Collinwood. No doubt, old Daniel Collins had appreciated that.

Yes- the rivalry between the Logan and Collins families ran deep, and back through the course of years.

Daniel had confided in Tate, or so Logan family legend had it- over a game of cards and gin.

Daniel had gotten drunk and confided to Tate that he wasn't really Jeremiah's son. Joshua Collins had adopted him in Jeremiah's name, and convinced him to spread a lie.

Old Joshua couldn't have handled the thought of his family coming into scandal, even long after death...

Patrick wondered if anyone besides his family knew the secret that the modern day Collins clan was really descended from the New York branch.

It didn't matter to him ultimately, and neither did it profit. Tate hadn't used that information against Daniel because there'd been no need. In the 19th century that indeed would have caused a scandal. Not so much now, in the 21st...

Patrick was pulled from his musings as the limo approached two great steel gates at the end of his family's private lane.

The driver swipped an ID card through a reader on the gate, and the great steel mammoths swung open to admit them.

There before Patrick was the great house Tate had built: Loganwood!

Unlike Collinwood, the Logan house didn't have a tower. It was closer to modern houses. Its two front doors had oval glass windows, and the bricks were the common red.

Patrick stepped out of his limo and made his way through the doors. The foyer of Loganwood was quite as magnificent. No dreary stone floors here, as in the Collins house.

The floors had pristine peach-colored carpet beneath a modern, electric bulb chandelier.

The foyer opened into a great gallery with stairs leading to the second floor from either side. The doors to the drawing room were between the twin staircases, in the wall.

The doors were of brilliant, polished Mahogany wood.

Logan stepped inside, delighted to see his two house guests awaiting him. One was an elderly old woman with thin white hair in a bun. The other was a man only a little older than he himself. The man was in his thirties, and his name was Dr. Craig Hoffman.

Patrick was seated in an armchair facing them.

"I went to Collinwood today," Patrick addressed the two of them. "My sources were correct. David's cousin is there."

Craig Hoffman's eyes lit up curiously.

"That would make him Carolyn's daughter?" Craig asked knowingly.

"Affirmative," Patrick said with a smirk. "That means he owns that house, and he doesn't even realize it. Imagine if someone were to...let him in on that info..."

The elderly woman smiled rather nastily.

"Yes," she said in a sickenly sweet, yet dragging old voice. "Roger and David could be put out. Though the boy would have to be turned against them somehow."

Patrick frowned at her, looking displeased for the first time.

"That isn't my plan," he snapped. "Not necessarily."

They both eyed him like he'd lost his mind. That HAD been their plan only yesterday...

Let them look, Patrick thought.

Right now he was thinking about a young man with brunette hair and expressive whiskey eyes, accented with almost perfect pouty lips for kissing.

He couldn't turn on Stiles now...at least not until the other man gave him reason...

His heart beat madly now, even thinking of Stiles.

"You look flustered," Craig remarked blandly. "Would you like a sedative?"

"That won't be necessary doc," Patrick replied with a grin. "I have my plan. We won't need Stiles if he can talk his cousin David into selling us that particular fleet."

"You're mighty confident," Craig observed shrewdly.

Patrick scowled slightly in response.

"Don't psycho-analyze me doc," he warned softly. "You'll get what you want."

"What I want," Craig began carefully. "I want to locate..."

He stopped and Patrick eyed him supiciously.

Mr. Logan didn't need to know what he wanted. Why would Craig tell him?

His Aunt Julia had told he and his mother a most interesting secret in her final hours on earth...

If only he could find the coffin! She'd managed to gasp out that the coffin was in a mausoleum. Which one was it?

Craig smirked in the knowledge that even Patrick with all his sources and paid informants wouldn't know THAT Collins family secret.

There was a vampire being contained somewhere in Collinsport...

His Aunt Julia had told he and his mother that she'd betrayed...that she'd sealed the thing back in its coffin...

Patrick eyed Craig with a deeper scowl at his smirk.

"Why the smirk doc?" Patrick asked sarcastically. "Would you like to be dismissed from my house?"

"Of course not sir," Craig replied placatingly. "Forgive me. I was thinking about the past is all."

"The past," Patrick said with a smirk of his own. "I never pegged you for a romantic, Dr. Hoffman."

"Oh I'm not," Craig assured him with a forced grimace. "Tell me sir...if I will still be able to do the experiment."

"Maybe," Patrick replied pleasantly enough. "I'm just not sure yet if you'll be doing it on Stiles, or on his cousin David."

Craig smiled in satisfaction at that response.

Stiles...

He'd done some research of his own on Stiles. The Beacon Hills PD had tried to do a cover up, but Craig was convinced now that the boy had been the mysterious psycho killer- the Nogitsune...

Still...if Craig couldn't do his experiment on Stiles- what good would David do him?

Did Patrick know something about David Collins that he didn't? That maybe even his Aunt Julia hadn't...


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles sighed and tossed his phone aside. Why even try with Scott anymore? Scott had been clear they weren't friends anymore, brothers, or anything...

He lay back against his bed at Collinwood, and California really did seem thousands of miles away. He wondered what things his mother had done in the great house. What had her relationship with her mother been like?

A great longing welled up in Stiles to have answers. Would Uncle Roger give them?

He started to spring to his feet, but caught sight of the music box. He hadn't listened to it all day. Its music made him feel things. Too many things...

Stiles gently raised the lid and the enchanting, haunting melody filled the room. The music was so gentle and harmonious, yet sad in a way. It seemed to call the listener back to something- something just beyond ability to pull a veil away and expose.

The music played through Stiles's mind and he thought- not of Derek exactly, but of how the werewolf might like this house. Would it remind him of his own home?

Something dawned on Stiles, and his eyes widened in understanding as he snapped the lid shut.

He grabbed up his phone, but hesitated on beginning the message. He didn't know how to begin.

He asked Derek what was up.

Sighing he flailed the phone a few inches away and fell back against the bed again. Derek didn't usually answer his texts quickly.

A tone going off shocked him from his swimming thoughts and emotions. He grabbed his phone up- hardly able to believe Derek had replied that fast.

 _D Hale: Not much...you?_

Stiles thought about how to respond, and suddenly felt it right to just come all out with it.

He typed to Derek that he was living in Maine now with his mother's relatives.

The response was over a minute coming this time...

 _D Hale: I didn't think you'd really do it..._

Stiles didn't know what to make of that. He blinked at the screen a few times. The words weren't like Derek. What was the wolf conveying at the news? Regret? Concern?

Stiles asked Derek if his dad told him anything about it. He certainly hadn't told Derek he was moving to Maine. Derek of course affirmed the sheriff had said something about it.

Stiles was suddenly in a new confusing rush of his typically racing thoughts. Should he ask Derek or be mad at his dad over something so small?

Stiles twitched a little and winced his eyes a few times, before deciding what to do.

He asked Derek in the next message if he wanted to come to Maine to visit him. Maine wasn't so far from New York...

He expected the older man to say no. They'd never exactly been close. Not exactly...

The message tone went off again, and Stiles jumped, staring at the screen in disbelief.

 _D Hale: If you want me to. I get tired of life in the city. Maine is beautiful..._

Stiles felt his mouth drop open as he read it through again. He told Derek he'd have to ask his cousin if he could stay. Throwing his phone aside on the bed he jumped up, excitement filling him for some unknown reason.

He put on his sneakers and practically ran down the hall to the second floor landing. He stopped with another shock when he saw Patrick Logan standing there. His Uncle David and Patrick were both looking at him silently now, but for some reason- David looked absolutely livid.

"Mr. Logan?" Stiles asked formally, making his way down the stairs.

"Patrick," Logan corrected him with a small smile. "I may call you Stiles, yes?"

"O-of course," Stiles stammered, wondering what had him so..

The feeling was akin to being giddy. How odd.

The more Patrick smiled as he carefully descended the stairs, the giddier Stiles felt...

Stiles jumped the last step and grinned at Patrick. David inhaled stiffly and looked away.

"What's wrong Uncle David?" Stiles asked, noting his cousin's mood.

"I'm alright Stiles," David managed, but there was a hitch in his voice. "Mr. Logan came to see you. I told him I didn't know if you..."

David cut off, and Stiles thought he suddenly understood why his cousin had looked livid moments before. Had they been arguing?

"I told your cousin you'd want to see me," Patrick supplied to fill the sudden silence.

"He's right Uncle David," Stiles said carefully. "Are you okay with that?"

David looked at Stiles with a strange expression, but it quickly became a cool lopsided half-smile of indifference.

"You're an adult Stiles," David said somewhat dryly. "I really didn't know if you'd want to see him. That's all..."

"Well if that's all," Stiles replied agreeably with a warm smile of affection.

David smiled back a little and turned toward the drawing room- leaving he and Patrick alone in the foyer.

The drawing room doors snapped closed and Patrick smiled rather amusedly.

"Your cousin does not like my seeing you," he observed.

"It isn't that," Stiles disagreed. "You heard him."

"If you say so," Patrick said, pacing the foyer distractedly.

He stopped in front of the portrait of Barnabas Collins and eyed it strangely, almost as though willing he could look beyond it to the man himself.

"Isn't this a strange painting?" Patrick asked Stiles, pointing. "You know who it is? Has anyone told you?"

"Barnabas Collins," Stiles replied, stepping next to Patrick.

He tried to ignore the tingle that shot up his body at being in brushing distance of Patrick's arm and leg.

"That's right," Patrick replied to Stiles's last statement. "Barnabas Collins. He technically wouldn't be your ancestor. That would be Dan...ah...Jeremiah Collins."

Stiles eyed Patrick strangely.

"You almost said someone else," he observed curiously. "What do you know about my ancestors?"

"Well I almost mentioned Daniel Collins is all," Patrick explained, remembering to lie this time. "Daniel was Jeremiah's son, so I wouldn't be wrong technically."

Well that was new information...

"Jeremiah's son," Stiles repeated strangely.

"Look at the history records in this house sometime," Patrick said. "They'll verify what I say."

"I'll do that," Stiles remarked, suddenly distant. "I wonder if they say anything about...my mother."

"Carolyn Stoddard?" Patrick guessed, well- really knew...

"Claudia Stilinski," Stiles corrected him, smiling a little ruefully as he said it. "That's the only name I ever knew her by. My dad said she wanted to escape from here. He didn't say why..."

Patrick looked truly uneasy at that. He had some idea of why...

"I can't imagine why," Stiles exclaimed strangely. "I like it here."

"It is nice enough," Patrick paused. "Today..."

Stiles eyed him strangely at his choice of words, but decided not to say anything more. What did it all mean?

"I came to ask you out to dinner," Patrick said, before he could be derailed again.

Stiles looked at him thoughtfully, and his whiskey eyes slightly betrayed him. Patrick decided to chance a friendly hand on the younger man's shoulder along with a warm smile.

"You'd like dinner," he went on. "Wouldn't you Stiles?"

Stiles inhaled gently at the hand on his shoulder. His flight mechanism kicked in, and he suddenly needed...

"I can't tonight," he said, moving from Patrick's touch easily enough to not arouse bad feelings.

"Tomorrow?" Patrick suggested.

"That would be better," Stiles nodded in agreement. "I don't mean to brush you off. I need to talk to my Uncle David about something.

"Oh I understand," Patrick replied with an agreeable smirk. "I'll just leave you to it then."

Stiles looked into Patrick's soft and soulful blue eyes for perhaps a little too long. Patrick's smirk didn't fall. It kind of evened out into an admiring, more easy smile.

"Good evening," Patrick said suddenly and rather curtly, pulling his gaze away.

It was with slight relief that Stiles watched the front door close behind Patrick- yet also a slight ache...

How could he feel this for someone he barely knew?

He knew he was bi, and that he liked a few guys here and there. Men were different for him though. He only liked very specific kinds of men...

Stiles couldn't recall ever falling for another guy so hard and fast. He'd never even been with another male. Ever...

He couldn't keep hiding that aspect of himself away. Not forever.

He turned toward the drawing room doors with a sigh and gave a light knock.

David opened to him and smiled.

"I'm glad to see you Stiles," he said genuinely. "It is time we talked more."

Stiles followed him inside, somewhat glad to see Uncle Roger wasn't around. Not for this particular...

"I wanted to ask you something," he began.

David looked at him curiously, but not repelled.

"Yes?"

"I have this friend from back in Beacon Hills," Stiles continued a little nervously, playing with his hands in that way of his. "He moved to New York a few years ago. He knows I'm here, and we were wondering if..."

This always happened to him. Stiles always cut off as though expecting the worst...

David grinned a little amusedly.

"If this friend can visit Collinwood?" he guessed, filling in for his cousin. 

Stiles nodded.

"Of course you can have guests," David assured him easily. "This is your house too. I want you to feel at home here. Tell me about him..."

"His name is Derek," Stiles said. "Derek Hale. He's a little older than me. Okay...a little more than a little..."

"Not too old?" David asked.

"Well no," Stiles said with a slight laugh. "He's younger than you. A good bit younger I'd think."

David shook with silent laughter.

"Well that's a relief," he snorted. "Of course he can come. He doesn't have to rush back to New York either. He can stay as long as he likes."

Stiles felt the only proper way to show his gratitude was to run forward and hug his cousin. Yet he felt genuine affection when they embraced.

"Thank you."

"Of course," David said.

Stiles hurried from the room happily. He needed to go send a text message...

David watched him go. His expression became slightly conflicted.

Of course he didn't have an issue with a guest or two. It was a pretty frequent happening at Collinwood.

He only hoped this...Derek Hale...could take Stiles away from Patrick Logan's company somehow.


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles moaned aloud in his sleep and jerked violently.

In his dream he was in a house he was sure he'd never seen. There were old worn doors at the entrance. The wood was tarnished and faded, but it had a slight peach color to it.

Stiles reached for the door, but then he turned with his dream. He was facing a drawing room that was much smaller than Collinwood's, yet just as luxurious in its ways. There was an antique sofa, and two cushioned armchairs that looked ancient.

Above a fireplace that also wasn't quite as grand as Collinwood's hung a portrait of someone he'd never seen. Yet he almost felt as though he had...

It was a man with black hair and a somewhat sunken face. This portrait of him depicted a smile...

That was who Stiles was certain he was seeing. It was another portrait of Barnabas Collins! What house was this?

Stiles walked a few paces forward and eyed the portrait more closely. Barnabas had his hand out, showing off the same black gemstone ring his portrait at Collinwood depicted.

Stiles found he was suddenly disturbed and took a few steps back- bumping into one of the armchairs unexpectedly.

He managed to steady himself on the arm of the chair, noticing for the first time, almost directly to his left- two panel doors in the far wall.

Something seemed to pull him toward those doors. Where did they go?

As though answering him, one of the doors swung open with a low creak. He could see a hall, and at its end was a metal door with a window opening at its top- fitted with bars.

Stiles might have turned around, but the metal door opened just slightly for him. His uneasiness increased, but he was almost transfixed to keep following the dream.

Beyond the doors were stairs descending into the damp and gloom of an old cellar. Stiles stepped into the almost pitch black very carefully, but he didn't need much light to see what was a few paces in front of him.

There was what looked like a coffin...

Stiles gave a little jump and fear begin to prickle down his every nerve. What would he find in there?

He found himself walking toward the coffin, almost as though pulled.

'Not the Nogitsune,' he thought to himself as he gripped the edges of the lid. "Please not him..."

Stiles's old nightmares still tormented him sometimes, and from what he could tell- this might be such a nightmare.

Only one way to find out. His dreams never ended unless he followed them through to completion...

He raised the lid, which was only slightly heavy, and his eyes widened at what he saw.

The inside of the coffin was empty...

What was an empty coffin doing here?

Stiles let the lid slam down and turned toward the cellar's far corner. He'd become aware of someone standing there.

It was a figure in a lab coat. Whoever it was was danging a sparkling object on a chain and twirling it around. Stiles noticed it was entrancing if he kept looking at it.

"I didn't mean to do it," an unknown female voice echoed in his dream world. "Didn't mean to betray him..."

"Betray who?" Stiles asked, voice hitching slightly with his fear.

The dream began to fade as he became aware of a hand shaking his shoulder.

"Stiles..."

His eyes blinked open. He was in his room at Collinwood and David was standing above him.

"W-what is it?" he asked sleepily.

"Someone is here for you," his cousin explained.

"It couldn't be!" Stiles exclaimed, eyes lighting up. "He wouldn't be..."

Stiles was already out the door and down the hall.

Derek couldn't have arrived already...

Yet it wasn't Derek he saw standing at the bottom of the stairs with his back turned. It was a familiar man about his own age with caramel skin and short black hair. The man was wearing one of his tell tale button up shirts.

"Scott!" Stiles gasped.

The man turned and eyed him indifferently, almost coldly.

"Why are you here?" he asked, almost falling over himself to get to the other man.

"You have to come back to Beacon Hills," Scott said simply.

"What?" Stiles asked in confusion, placing a hand on Scott's shoulder. "Scotty what are you saying?"

Scott recoiled from his once best friend's hand with an icy look.

"You have to come back because I've decided you could be a danger," he explained coldly. "You're known for being random in very bad ways. I told your dad you couldn't be allowed to endanger your mother's family."

"What are you saying?" Stiles asked, anger coming into his voice, while he looked at Scott like he hardly knew him.

"I'm saying you're going back with me," Scott snapped. "Its not up for debate."

Scott turned away from him in a huff.

"You haven't forgiven me I take it?" Stiles quipped irritably.

"Probably never will," Scott muttered. "I don't know who you are. Maybe I never did. Who is Stiles Stilinski?"

Scott spun around on him in a rage.

"Tell me that!" he thundered at his former brother. "Who are you!? I thought I knew you!"

Stiles's mouth dropped open as a grief stricken look darkened his features.

"You know me," Stiles tried in a gentle, reassuring tone. "I'm your Stiles."

Scott looked pained at that, but he merely sighed.

"I almost want to believe you," he said sadly. "Well come on then! Get your things..."

"I'm not going," Stiles replied flatly.

Scott eyed him with disbelief.

"You are going Stiles!"

"No I'm not," Stiles insisted, all pretense of friendship gone. "You can't make me!"

"Do you want to endanger your mother's family?" Scott asked sadly. "I can't help you unless you work with me. I'm going to try to be friends again, but you've got to get help..."

"Help?" Stiles asked incredously. "Planning to put me back in the nutty bin are you?"

"If that's what it takes," Scott said flatly.

David had been standing there at the top of the landing watching the exchange, and he felt he couldn't simply watch anymore.

"Young man," David cut in firmly, descending the steps and eying Scott with a hard glare. "Stiles is my cousin. You're in no position to do anything in this house. If he doesn't want to go, you can't make him!"

Scott opened his mouth as though to argue, but instead he looked away and sighed heavily.

"He's right," he admitted in defeat. "I can't make you come with me Stiles. I meant it. We can start over if you come back to California and do things my way."

Stiles looked at Scott's turned back with clear conflict, and then to David. David gave Stiles an almost pleading look.

"I don't know," Stiles said finally. "I like it here at Collinwood."

"Stiles," Scott spoke, still turned away from him. "I'll be in town a few days. That should be enough time for you to decide. I'm leaving our friendship in your hands. If you turn me down now..."

Scott cut off and Stiles felt his stomach twist painfully. What should he do?

He wanted Scott back as his best friend, but he also liked being with his mother's family.

Derek would be arriving some time in the next few days...

"I'll give you an answer in three days," Stiles decided. "You'll know my decision. Where will you be staying?"

"The Collinsport Inn," Scott replied quietly. "You should know that already. How long have you been here? Don't answer that..."

Stiles watched Scott proceed to the front doors and open one of them.

"The Collinsport Inn," he repeated before leaving with a snap of the door behind him.

Stiles looked to David again. The sadness was still in his cousin's eyes, but his face was more composed.

"What are you going to do?" David asked frankly.

"I'd like to stay here," Stiles assured him firmly. "It'd be no question if it were anyone else. Believe that..."

"I do," David said with a small smile. "I trust you. Ultimately, you'll have to make the decision."

Stiles merely nodded, and made his way to the drawing room. David didn't stop him.

The room was dark and still with the night, and the fire had gone out. He had thought maybe Uncle Roger might be around...

Stiles bit his lip and reached for his phone in his pocket. Should he call his dad and demand answers for Scott's arrival?

No...

He retrieved the business card from his other pocket and started to dial the number on it.

"How may I direct your call?" a formal female voice answered on the second ring.

"Patrick Logan," Stiles said.  
"I'll try his line," she replied.

There was another series of rings.

Stiles didn't expect him to pick up. It was almost 1 am.

"Patrick Logan."

Stiles almost couldn't believe it.

"Hey Patrick," he greeted.

"Stiles?" Patrick asked, voice becoming amused. "Do you always make late night calls?"

"No I need some advice."

"About?" Patrick pressed casually.

"My be...former best friend just arrived. He wants me to go back to California with him."

Patrick was surprised to hear that.

"Your best friend?" he asked curiously.

"Scott," Stiles explained simply. "He was like my brother. Then I screwed it up."

"I'm sure that's not true Stiles, but I'm sure you didn't call me for pity. What do you think you should do?"

"Like I know," Stiles snorted sarcastically. "I'd have saved you a phone call at one in the morning if I knew!"

"Well Stiles..." Patrick hesitated, and he swallowed a lump building in his throat. "If it means anything- I don't want you to go."

"You don't?" Stiles asked, voice jumping with emotion.

"I like you so much," Patrick confessed. "We've only just met, and I already feel like we're close friends..."

Stiles smiled to himself at Patrick's confession, feeling a certain tender emotion he couldn't quite peg down.

"I might not go," Stiles said softly. "I really don't want to, but Scott is trying to pressure me."

"Anything I can do to help?" Patrick offered. "Lunch tomorrow? I'll buy..."

"That does sound nice," Stiles accepted, sounding a little brighter. "I could definitely use your advice."

"I'll pick you up tomorrow morning," Patrick said as Dr. Hoffman eyed him from a nearby chair. "Goodnight!"

The doctor watched Patrick put the phone down.

"Who was that at this time of morning?" Hoffman wondered aloud.

"Stiles," Patrick replied with a smile. "We're having lunch tomorrow, but tonight...I need you to do something for me Craig."

The doctor eyed Patrick with a slight frown.

"Well I'm not your errand boy," he replied a little coldly.

"Not an errand Hoffman!" Patrick chuckled at the older man. "Good God! Why do you think I have servants? I have a test subject for you."

"David Collins?" Craig guessed.

Patrick hesitated.

"No Hoffman," he said. "Stiles's best friend is in town. I have a file from my investigator. He looked into everyone Stiles knows or has been close to. I believe you'll find Mr. McCall's file quite the...revelation."

Patrick went to his desk and took out a particular manila folder. He opened it and sorted through several pages, before retrieving three specific sheets.

He handed it to Craig.

"An overview on Scott McCall," he explained.

Dr. Hoffman scanned down the pages, and as he did a mysterious smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"A werewolf!" he exclaimed excitedly. "This is like hitting gold!"

"Can you do it?" Patrick asked. "Will it work?"

"Oh I can take care of Scott McCall," Hoffman said smugly. "He is mine then? To do with what I wish?"

"Whatever you wish," Patrick agreed pleasantly.

Craig smirked and went to the couch, picking up his physician's tote. He sorted through it before extracting a syringe filled with a yellow liquid.

He held it up and his smirk widened to an entirely devious smile.

"I will return probably early tomorrow," Craig announced. "Ready one of your drivers. I want to do it tonight..."

With that Hoffman made his way out of the drawing room, and across the grand foyer of Loganwood...

OoooOoooOoooO

Scott yawned as he settled against the bed. It wasn't the fanciest hotel he'd ever stayed in by any stretch.

What could he really expect in a backwater Maine town like this?

He thought about Stiles and sighed aloud to himself.

He still wasn't sure giving his former best friend another chance was the right thing. Certainly, that's what he wanted to do. It was just a little too easy...

His thoughts were broken by his bedside phone ringing. Had he forgotten something at the front desk?

"Hello," he answered.

"There's a Wallace Collins coming up to see you," the hotel clerk said.

"Wallace Collins?" Scott asked strangely. "What could he want?"

"Search me," the clerk replied. "I didn't even know there was a Wallace Collins..."

Scott frowned at that and hung up the reciever. Whatever was coming, he only had a few seconds to consider...

Wasn't he being a little silly? This wasn't Beacon Hills after all. This was a tiny backwater town in Maine, the last place anything out of the ordinary was likely to find him...

A knock sounded against his room door, and he answered it quickly.

"Wallace Collins?" he asked the man, who happened to be wearing a lab coat like a doctor might wear.

"Yes that's right," the man replied. "I was sent from Collinwood. Please, let's talk in here..."

Scott nodded and led him into the room, closing the door behind him politely.

When he released the doorknob and turned something sharp pierced his arm, and he gasped.

Craig Hoffman smirked deviously and pushed down, shooting the drug into Scott's veins.

Scott cried out and flailed his arm, tossing the man aside.

"What did you?" Scott demanded, but then something like fear overtook his features.

"We're going to try a little experiment," Craig explained smugly. "I've never tried that drug out on a person. No idea what it might do, but much too late..."

Scott gasped and grabbed at the sides of his head.

"What are you feeling Scott McCall?" Dr. Hoffman asked tauntingly. "Tell me!"

"Panic," Scott whispered. "Rage. I feel like...like..."

Scott jerked violently and his head fell back. When he fixed his eyes on Craig again they were a blood ruby red.

He flexed his fingers helplessly as his mouth opened wider and his teeth began to elongate into fangs.

"What did you..." Scott growled as his muscles bulged unbelievably and burst his clothes apart. Fur shot from his skin like weeds.

Craig watched with maniacal glee as the now wolf-like man crouched on all fours. The beast threw its head back and gave a long, ear-splitting howl.

The wolf turned on him and pounced, but Dr. Hoffman held up a small baggie full of black powder.

The wolf recoiled.

"That's right," the doctor purred. "Mountain ash..."

Scott howled again and kicked his legs against the bed, knocking the frame apart with one blow.

The wolf flailed its claws in a frenzy and then lunged for window, breaking through it and vanishing into the night.

Dr. Hoffman's mouth fell open at the werewolf's escape, and then his expression became furious.

No! This couldn't happen...


	9. Chapter 9

It looked as though Stiles wouldn't be getting much sleep at Collinwood after all. He had hardly settled back into bed from his confrontation with Scott and David was shaking him awake again.

"What is it Uncle David?" 

Stiles hadn't completely fallen back into sleep yet, so his voice was quite alert.

"The police need you to answer some questions," David said with a worried look.

"What!?" Stiles exclaimed in shock. "Uncle David you know I haven't..."

"I know," David nodded. "You've only left the house with me so far. I'll vouch for you."

Stiles threw on a Batman tee shirt with basketball shorts. David wrinkled his nose a little prudishly at his cousin's choice in clothing, but said nothing.

The two of them made their way down the hall, descending the stairs into Collinwood's moderately-sized foyer. A young officer was there, looking at the picture of Barnabas curiously.

What was it about that picture?

"This is he officer," David cut into the young cop's distraction.

The crew cut brunette shook hands with Stiles.

"I'm Deputy Conway," he introduced himself. "You're not in any trouble Stiles. Just step this way if you would."

The young deputy led the way to the drawing room. David looked at the deputy with the question of rather he could join them in his eyes. Conway gestured him in with his hand.

"What is it?" Stiles asked as David closed the drawing room doors so they'd have privacy.

"You are the friend of one Scott McCall?"

Stiles frowned sadly.

"Former friend," he managed roughly.

"We're looking for him," Conway said. "His room at the inn was vandalized by the looks of it, but he wasn't there. The hotel clerk heard a weird sound like a wolf's howl, and he thought it came from Mr. McCall's room."

Stiles looked at the officer with surprise and slight fear.

"That's impossible officer," Stiles denied hastily. "Come on. We both know a wolf didn't howl inside a hotel room."

"I'd say that's a logical deduction Mr. Stilinski, but the fact is Scott is missing. He may have gone out the window. It was broken."

Stiles felt his stomach twist painfully with concern. What had happened?

He couldn't tell anyone Scott was a werewolf. Only he knew...

"No one was in the room with him?" Stiles asked carefully.

The officer looked a little surprised by Stiles's direct manner.

"One would think someone had been there," Conway mused as though reaching for something just beyond his grasp. "No one was though. It doesn't make sense..."

"You'd be surprised," Stiles muttered.

"What?" Conway asked strangely.

"I mean..." Stiles paused, caught on a response. "Scott is a strange person to begin with. That's all!"

The deputy narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"That's all?" he pressed sternly.

"Cross my heart dude," Stiles replied, making the sign of the cross for grand effect.

"Alright smarty pants," Conway said with a slight grin. "I would take you down for further questioning, but your cousin Mr. Collins vouched for you. He's an upstanding member of this community, and I'll take his word for it. Try not to be a smartass with officers of the law, huh?"

Stiles wondered if he should mention being the son of an officer of the law, but Deputy Conway had already turned away from him to David.

"Thank you Mr. Collins. Good night to you sir."

"Good night," David replied easily enough, though he looked slightly glum.

Deputy Conway let himself out, and soon the front door could be heard closing.

"You look almost..." Stiles paused, looking for the right word. "Somber..."

"I'm sorry Stiles," David said with a playful smile. "I'm so like my Aunt Elizabeth in my ways. She didn't like a lot of people in this house either."

Stiles looked to the portrait of the strong woman hanging on the drawing room wall. His grandmother and David's aunt...

Thoughts of Scott returned, and a sickening feeling of fear settled in Stiles's gut. Something was very weird in this town...

OoooOoooOoooOoooO

A rooster might have been heard crowing in the distance as the sun's first light broke the clouds of night over Collinsport.

Craig Hoffman made his way through trees and brush, his smart phone held aloft to serve as a flashlight.

He had been out here searching all night, and unless he found Scott soon, he'd have to go back to Patrick Logan having failed...

Mr. Logan would not be pleased.

Craig pointed his phone's flashlight into a nearby rush of bushes and stepped around a rather large tree, almost stepping on the arm of the man he found laid out there.

He bent down and examined the features. It was Scott alright. His face was filthy with dirt, and he was still indecent from having burst apart his clothes.

Craig grabbed the younger man's arm to test for a pulse, and satisfied- heaved him up over his shoulders with impressive strength.

He needed to get Scott to the place...

And so the sun broke more through the morning's veil, until it shone golden and misty on the land.

Craig huffed at the weight of his burden, and striving past one last brush- they emerged into an abandoned, and quickly growing over graveyard.

There was a ancient looking mausoleum in the distance. Surely that was the place from his Aunt Julia's notes.

Why had she sealed the monster back in there instead of destroying it?

His Aunt Julia hadn't been able to bring herself to destroy it, but she'd left Craig the task of carrying out that mercy.

Hopefully Scott McCall would be strong enough to take on a vampire. Were werewolves strong enough to match vampires?

Craig could have destroyed the creature himself during the day by using the old wooden stake method, but that wasn't his style as an acclaimed doctor of medicine. He did have a certain air of dignity about him.

Scott groaned and shifted in his grasp, and Craig almost jumped in fright. The werewolf was coming around...

He quickened his pace, feeling like he might collapse if he lugged Scott any further. He was at the mausoleum's iron door now.

He placed Scott on some earth nearby and opened it. Yes this would be secluded enough...

Craig would have to go back to Loganwood, but he could trap Scott in there, and no one would think to look.

He hoisted the younger man over his shoulders again and struggled up the stone steps.

The inside of the mausoleum was a small square room with three great stone coffins in a row. On the wall were the names of the three bodies entombed there: Joshua, Naomi, and Sarah Collins.

Craig placed Scott in one of the mausoleum's corners and entrapped him there by heaping Mountain Ash around it. He then put a line of it in front of the mausoleum door.

Let Scott McCall try to escape now!

Craig had to make sure that didn't happen. Tonight would be it. Tonight was when he must do it...

OoooOoooOoooOoooO

Stiles sat on the drawing room sofa flipping through a book of family history to try to distract from his worry.

He should text his dad, but he always had so much on his plate already...

There was another reason Stiles was keeping fairly distant though.

He knew he had been a burden on his dad raising him alone. His dad never had handled his ADHD very well. Stiles figured he deserved a break.

A knock on the front doors distracted him, and he was about to go answer it when someone else did.

"Yes?" Uncle David's voice spoke.

"Collinwood?" the knocker asked, and Stiles knew that voice.

He jumped up like a bat out of hell and sprinted to the front door.

He flung himself forward into the man's hands.

"Derek! Thank the gods you're here!"

Derek Hale hesitated only a moment before enclosing the younger man in his embrace. He'd missed Stiles, and yes, he could admit it- he felt strangely protective as held him close.


	10. Chapter 10

"Scott is missing!?"

Derek asked the question with surprise. There was real worry in his expression- an emotion he rarely showed.

"They don't know where he went," David confirmed with a nod. "No offense to Stiles, but I think there is something kinda off about his friend Scott."

Derek raised an eyebrow at that remark, while Stiles stared into the roaring flames of the drawing room's grate looking a million miles away.

Derek's expression dropped into a sad frown as he noticed the tragic expression on his friend's face. Stiles looked as though he could cry.

"We'll find him Stiles," Derek said in his most gentle voice.

Stiles nodded and wiped at his eyes a little, forcing a smile.

"Thanks Derek," he replied, wiping the last bit of moisture from his eyes. "I'm really glad you're here."

Derek managed a half smile meant to look reassuring.

"You coming?" he asked, holding up his keys. "I'm going to look for him."

"The police have looked everywhere already," Stiles replied sullenly. "Its no use..."

Derek's mouth fell open in surprise. He'd never seen Stiles so hopeless and unwilling to act.

"What's gotten into you?" Derek asked confusedly. "This isn't the Stiles I know at all. He'd never give up. Now come on- up and at em!"

Stiles smiled slightly, and a boyish gleam kindled in his eyes.

"You're right," he chuckled ironically. "What are we sitting around here for? I'll see you around Uncle David."

"Good luck both of you," David told them.

"Thanks," Derek said good-naturedly.

He and Stiles made their way across the foyer. They stopped when Stiles heard a voice he hadn't heard since his first day at Collinwood.

"I know one place they ain't checked," the voice said.

Stiles turned and looked at old Mr. Loomis in disbelief. Could he really know anything?

"What do you mean Willie?"

"I only meant there's a place around here no one goes," Willie replied, his voice rising as though he expected to be scolded. "The graveyard on Eagle Hill..."

Stiles looked at Derek knowingly.

"Worth a shot," Derek remarked.

"Wait," Stiles said, turning to Willie again. "There's another house isn't there?"

Mr. Loomis looked cornered and alarmed.

"What makes you think that?" he asked awkwardly.

"I heard Uncle Roger talking about it to Uncle David," Stiles lied, deciding not to mention the dream.

"Yeah the old house," Willie conceeded. "Why would you want to know?"

Stiles started to bump his fingers together excitedly.

"Curious is all. Where is this old house?"

Willie frowned at the question. He turned and scratched at his thin, aged hair distractedly.

"Through some hedges on the edge of this estate. Its a pretty thick growth. There's some trees and stuff. You'll know it Mr. Stiles. There's a beaten path through it."

"Thank you Willie," Stiles said, turning to Derek who looked slightly impatient.

"Done?" Derek asked shortly.

"I think so," Stiles replied with a small laugh, hoping one of Derek's moods wasn't coming on.

Derek nodded and led the way out the front doors, toward the garages.

OoooOoooOoooOoooO

"How could you do anything that foolish!?" Patrick thundered at Craig.

Dr. Hoffman looked livid, and started pacing the drawing room of Loganwood.

"I didn't know it would happen," Craig said defensively. "You said I could do anything I wanted!"

Patrick sneered mockingly.

"Anything you wanted didn't mean something so foolish a child wouldn't do it."

Craig flinched at the insult and drew himself up.

"You're blaming me?" he demanded shortly. "Because Scott McCall bit some girl!?"

"You're the one who shot him up with this..." Patrick paused and flailed his hands. "Oh who knows what!"

"You can't absolve yourself of your part," Craig said slyly. "Don't think I don't know what you're trying to do. You gave me that file, and you knew I had the drugs. Admit it: you were too absorbed in thoughts of that Stilinski boy to use sound judgment."

"Maybe I was," Patrick admitted with a sigh. "What of it?"

"Well only that I wouldn't go pointing fingers, if you know what I mean. The police might find that file very..."

"Silence fool!" Patrick thundered. "I do not involve the police in my affairs. I am not a common criminal."

"Not all criminals are common," Craig retorted.

"Hoffman I'm warning you..."

Craig grinned and folded his arms confidently.

"Ranting at me won't solve the problem you know..."

Patrick groaned and ran his hand across his blonde hair.

"Now I'll have to cancel on Stiles," he sighed. "I can't deny I gave you everything, but I didn't know it would turn out like this..."

"It'll still turn out fine," Craig said more easily. "I'm a doctor, remember?"

"A mad doctor," Patrick shot back.

"We're all a little mad," Craig quipped with a laugh. "Now listen because I can fix everything. I have Scott contained somewhere. Never mind where. He's no danger to anyone else, and I can reverse the girl's change. Enough time hasn't passed yet, I don't think."

"You hope not," Patrick corrected.

Dr. Hoffman sighed.

"Do you want to hear my plan to reverse the bite or not?"

"The bite?" Patrick asked skeptically.

"That's what its called. The condition it causes is called lycanthropy. You remember me speaking of my Aunt Julia? Let's just say she had a thing for the supernatural, and she encountered were...um- the subject of werewolves!"

Patrick looked at him skeptically.

"I hope you weren't about to say encountered werewolves," he deadpanned.

"Of course not," Craig laughed lightly. "Slip of the tongue..."

"Well what is your plan?" Patrick continued.

"If the bite hasn't taken significantly, mountain ash could counteract it. Its worth a shot. The girl will become violently ill of course as her body tries to reject the venom."

Patrick's eyes bugged out slightly.

"The venom?"

"Yes," Craig said, ruffling through his physician's tote distractedly. "I don't know where I'd get any mountain ash. Only problem. Its a longshot anyway."

"I'll get it," Patrick told him impatiently. "You go handle that Scott boy. I'm warning you doctor. No more of these antics. Give him the antidote to whatever you gave him. You're not going to ruin my shot with Stiles!"

Craig watched Mr. Logan storm out of the drawing room, no doubt to try to track down some mountain ash.

"One problem Mr. Logan," Craig muttered scathingly. "Who's going to give you an antidote?"

His smile twisted deviously at that statement.

OoooOoooOoooOoooO

Even the parking lot of the graveyard was hardly discernable beneath years worth of leaves piling up. The fence was rusty and warped.

Derek and Stiles closed their car doors respectively and looked at one another expectantly.

"Follow me," Derek said quietly.

"Um Derek," Stiles spoke as they walked through the creaky old gate. "Why you being quiet? No one's gonna be here."

"Stiles!" the wolf hissed. "That's your problem. You're never careful!"

"You're too careful," Stiles argued back in a whisper. "I'd rather know if something was coming myself. Not try to tiptoe around it!"

Derek glared at him warningly and yep- that glare still worked. Stiles swallowed and said nothing else.

There was an old mausoleum in just ahead. Surprisingly the gate was still in tact. If Scott would be anywhere, it seemed likely he'd be there.

"Scott!" Stiles shouted.

Derek looked at the younger man furiously, but didn't have time to argue.

"Stiles!?" Scott growled from inside. "No! Don't come in. Go back!"

"Don't be ridiculous Scott," Stiles chuckled, reaching for the gate handle. "You can't hate me that much."

Derek grabbed his arm midair, preventing him from opening it.

"Use your head Stiles! Scott wouldn't warn you away for nothing. Look..."

The werewolf looked down, and Stiles saw it now. There was a line of mountain ash across the entrance behind the gate.

"Mountain ash," Stiles muttered strangely. "What does this mean?"

"You can't let me out," Scott grunted in an odd voice. "He did something to me. Even now the rage is barely under the surface. He put some kind of drug in me."

"Who did?" Stiles asked.

"Some guy who came to my hotel room," Scott replied like he was lifting a ton weight. "Its taking everything I've got not to let it...take me again!"

Derek looked extremely worried now and guided Stiles back by the arm.

"Stiles come away," he instructed quietly.

"Let go!" Stiles protested stubbornly, wrenching his arm free. "You expect me to leave him?"

"You heard him Stiles! There's no telling what he might do."

Stiles looked dejected, knowing Derek was right. He remained quiet several moments, pondering the situation.

"Wait Derek," he said suddenly. "Don't you think the guy might come back?"

"Yeah he probably would," Derek agreed knowingly. "Let's wait for him. He'll see the car and know someone is here. We'd better hide..."

"Couldn't we hide in the..." Stiles stopped short, remembering why they couldn't go anywhere near Scott.

"Yeah," Scott grunted, catching on to Stiles's meaning. "You guys can hide in here. I'm walled into a corner. There's mountain ash here too."

Stiles looked at Derek, and the older man actually nodded.

Stiles stepped forward with his hand out, trying to focus on that spark he knew was in him. He hadn't called on its power in a long time.

Something seemed to pulse against his palm and he thought it must be working.

He opened the mausoleum gate with his other hand, and swung the sparked hand down like a karate chop. The mountain ash parted with a gentle gust.

Derek walked past him and looked around the dreary place strangely. Scott was still huddled into his corner looking scared, almost in a panic. He was trembling.

Stiles entered and read one of the grave markers on the wall.

"Sarah Collins," he sounded out. "A Collins ancestor! I wonder if Uncle David knows about her?"

The sound of leaves rustling outside broke his conversation.

"Someone in there!?" a male voice demanded loudly.

Derek grabbed Stiles quickly, but there was no where to hide in here. The coffins wouldn't hide two grown men like themselves...

Derek thought fast. Didn't it seem like something else might be in here? He'd felt it since he came in...

He looked at the golden lion heads above each wall grave marker. There was a little ring in each mouth. The middle one...

Derek approached it, examining it closely. A cord retreating up into the lion's mouth...

He grabbed the ring and pulled. Footsteps were coming much closer now. They could hear the footfalls clearly.

The wall opened with a low creak and slowly swung back. He stepped forward and gestured Stiles in.

The footfalls were louder now. Almost right at the mausoleum steps...

Derek grabbed the wall and forced it closed behind them, taking in the strange room they'd found.

There was a single coffin in the middle of it, and chained shut very haphazardly. Almost like someone had struggled to get the chains fitted over it...

"Who's in here!?" a male voice demanded from the other side of the wall.

Derek and Stiles remained silent, not daring to move a muscle. They heard footfalls on the mausoleum floor in the other chamber.

Stiles inhaled, feeling his nervous heart jumping as he looked to Derek's anxious expression.

"Was anyone in here?" the man demanded.

"N-no," Scott coughed out. "Let me go, please..."

"I can't do that," the man said. "Not yet..."

They heard the man pace for several moments.

"I don't trust this place," he said finally. "This is where I needed you. Where IT is, but we'll have to come back. I know someone's been in here! Come on!"

"Let me go!" Scott protested and Stiles made to jump forward, but Derek restrained him, claming a hand over his mouth.

"I'm sorry Stiles," Derek whispered in his ear. "Forgive me. This man is too dangerous to give ourselves away..."

Stiles went limp in Derek's grasp, submitting. Derek released him. Stiles looked as though he might cry again.

The gate opened with a loud creak and then closed.

"No!" Scott called from a distance now. "No..."

Stiles looked wide-eyed and miserable. He covered his eyes with his hands and finally broke down.

Derek placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he muttered dejectedly. "I was protecting you."

"I know," Stiles hiccuped. "It isn't you..."

They heard the roar of a car engine, and tires squeaking as the man jetted- Scott his captive once more...

Stiles wiped at his eyes and looked at the coffin strangely. Was he imagining it?

Something like drum beats was sounding in his ear. Boom booom! Boom booom!

They terrified him.

"Do you hear that?" he whispered.

Derek was feeling around the room frantically. He didn't answer. Something clearly had him spooked though.

"How do we get out?" Derek thought out loud.

He turned to the steps and started pulling at the stone tiles in them. Success! One of them shifted with the sound of stone grinding stone.

He gave a heave and the stone tile moved easily. There was something like a button in the floor under it...

He pushed it until the door shifted and swung back again.

Sure enough- the mausoleum was empty. Scott was gone...


	11. Chapter 11

Derek noted how quickly Stiles walked once he parked the car. The younger man had said he wasn't upset...

"Stiles," he spoke flatly.

The younger man stopped and his body trembled slightly. He kept his back turned.

"Are you...mad at me?"

"No," Stiles muttered dejectedly. "I just need to be alone."

"Please," Derek said, voice rising with emotion. "Don't torment yourself anymore..."

Stiles turned, looking at him with tears in his eyes.

"I don't know what to do Derek," Stiles whispered, choking over a sob. "I feel like everything is always my fault!"

"Stiles," Derek said quietly, expression somewhere between anxious and sad.

"Derek," Stiles whispered. "You've never...looked at me that way..."

Derek's nostrils flared and he quickly put the stone mask back over his features.

Stiles felt a rush of anger, just like he always did when Derek withdrew.

"Stupid!" he snapped.

Derek looked like he'd been slapped, actually taking a step back.

"I'm sorry," Stiles said quickly. "I'm really sorry..."

Derek shook his head and fixed a frown on his face.

"Let's go in Stiles," he managed gently.

The two of them crossed the sloping lawn from the garage.

David meanwhile was in the drawing room, wondering to himself what this might all mean.

Why would a friend of Stiles show up, check in at the inn, and then vanish?

David's expression became distant and thoughtful as he thought back over his life- to the last time weird things had happened around his family.

He remembered the ghost of Sarah Collins very vaguely from his boyhood, even though he'd tried to tell himself she was an imaginary friend he'd invented.

She was a little girl who used to appear from nowhere and play with him...

He had been sent away a little while because his cousin Barnabas had convinced everyone he was crazy.

David felt an old, bitter resentment toward Barnabas that reared its head when he remembered these things.

Then he remembered nearly two years later, when Barnabas had traveled to 1897 to save him...

Where was Barnabas now?

The sound of the front doors opening tore him from his memories, back to the present.

"Stiles," he called.

"Yeah?" Stiles asked composedly, entering the drawing room with Derek in tow.

"Find anything?"

Stiles shook his head a little sadly.

"Afraid not David," he sighed, making rare use of his cousin's name without 'uncle'.

"I'm sorry," David offered. "Are you up for eating some dinner?"

"Sorry no," Stiles said heavily. "Please understand..."

David nodded with a small half-smile of sympathy.

"You Derek?" he pressed a bit more formally, seeing as he'd only just met him.

"Maybe in a little while," Derek offered sounding apologetic. "I want to talk to Stiles."

"No really Derek," Stiles protested with a small false laugh. "I'm fine. I want to call someone."

Derek looked at him and gave a single nod of understanding.

"Lead the way then, Mr. Collins."

With that, Derek followed David from the drawing room.

Stiles sighed and dropped onto the couch, taking out his phone. He pressed Patrick's speed dial.

"Stiles?" Patrick asked on the second ring.

"I'm sorry Patrick," Stiles said quickly. "I forgot our lunch date."

"Its alright," Patrick assured him easily. "I told your uncle earlier I wouldn't be able to make it. Didn't he tell you I called?"

"Probably forgot," Stiles concluded. "I was gone looking for Scott."

"You need to be careful Stiles. A girl got bit by an unknown animal early this morning before dawn. She had to be treated for it."

Stiles's mouth parted slightly at this bit of news.

Someone in Collinsport...bitten...

"Stiles?" Patrick said.

"I'm sorry. Can you come pick me up? I'd like some company."

"You're sure?" Patrick asked, sounding a little surprised.

"Yeah, I am."

"Alright," Patrick agreed. "You can see my house. You'll love it Stiles!"

"Wouldn't miss it," Stiles said, sounding a little happy in spite of his situation.

"See you in about thirty?"

Stiles agreed, and that ended their call.

Now he just had to go tell Derek and Uncle David...

Stiles stopped halfway across the foyer, changing his mind.

He had his phone on him after all...

OoooOoooOoooO

Through thicket and about half a mile of woods on the Collins estate...sits the old ancestral house...

This is where Craig takes Scott, knowing from his late Aunt Julia that no one lives there anymore.

He hoists the unconscious young man from the backseat of his car, having used enough sedative to put a werewolf under a few hours.

He turns the tricky old knob back and forth, finally managing to get one of the front doors open.

An immediate musty, stale smell hits him.

The house is still let by sunset's glow pouring in.

He lays Scott near the verge outside and steps in, removing a lighter from his pocket. He well knows the old house has no electricity...

Fortunately there's a few candlesticks in the drawing room with candles in them.

He clicks the lighter to life, watching the spark ignite a flame.

Soon the room is lit enough for his purposes.

He goes back to the verge and with a heave pulls Scott's limp form inside, latching the doors quickly.

He sits Scott in one of the ancient looking, worn armchairs. Easily 18th century...

Removing wolfsbane laced ropes from his bag, he begins tying Scott to the chair tightly.

Then he sits in the other armchair, syringe ready with more of the drug...

He waits, watching Scott with anticipation, and night falls.

The boy groans at last and begins to stir. His eyes open, and he hisses in pain at the wolfsbane ropes cutting into his arms.

Dr. Hoffman eyes him hungrily, syringe already raised as he approaches.

"No!" Scott pleads pathetically. "Not that! Why are you doing this!?"

"Listen carefully, Scott McCall. You're going to do exactly as I say..."


	12. Chapter 12

Stiles had been glad not to meet anyone when he returned to Collinwood. He'd instructed Patrick to drop him off by one of the old servant entrances. He really didn't want to talk to anyone.

Patrick kissing him had been amazing, as had the last few hours, but now it seemed like his troubles had returned with a vengeance.

He sat in his bedroom, thinking about Patrick, and then about Derek when his eyes fell on the old music box he kept by his bed.

Some conflicting feeling jumped within him as he thought about Patrick again, then Derek...

He was being stupid!

A knock at his bedroom door provided him the perfect escape from his confused feelings.

"Come in."

Derek entered and gave him his most disapproving scowl.

"That wasn't funny Stiles," he scolded.

"Oh was I trying to be funny?" Stiles quipped sarcastically. "I can go out by myself. I'm not a child."

"No one said you were," Derek sighed, rolling his eyes at the younger man's antics. "David told me all about this Patrick Logan. How well do you really know him Stiles?"

Stiles looked at Derek with mild annoyance, raising an eyebrow.

"I appreciate what I'm sure is your concern Derek, but is who I see really your business?"

"Stiles stop it," Derek muttered quietly, sighing again, and trying not to lose his temper. "There's no need for you to get defensive. I am not telling you where to go or who to see. Please Stiles..."

Stiles's expression became slightly guilty.

"I'm sorry Derek. I know you aren't, its just that I'm tired of Uncle David riding me about Patrick. I don't know the history between my family and Patrick's, and frankly- I don't care. I like him, Derek."

Derek looked up at Stiles's confession, expression questioning yet neutral.

"I was wondering how long it'd take you," he mused. "Stiles is stepping out at last!"

"Wha!?" Stiles gawked at him. "Just what are you saying Derek Hale!?"

Derek laughed.

"Its what you're saying Stiles," Derek said lightly. "I knew you were bisexual. I wondered if you intended to hide it forever."

"You knew I was bisexual?" Stiles asked strangely. "How could you know that?"

"I know," Derek said simply. "Werewolf senses and all that. I never struck you as bisexual Stiles?"

"You?" Stiles snorted, but he didn't say anything else.

If he were honest, there were things about Derek that might suggest it. Specifically some of their interactions over the years...

"I kinda figured," Stiles said finally, giving Derek a glance that spoke of something they had in common.

His stomach jumped again, like butterflies scattering in a million directions. He thought of Patrick, and the feeling lessened, but he never took his gaze from Derek's.

Derek kept looking back, his expression neither happy or sad. It was considering and maybe just a little curious.

Derek had thought these feelings for Stiles had gone away during his time in New York. Now here they were again, growing heavier and heavier like a stone weight in his heart.

He studied the younger man's brunette hair, his whiskey eyes and mole-checked face. Something about Stiles had always said masculine fire, yet delicate and dainty.

"What are we doing Derek?" Stiles asked in near a whisper.

Derek stepped a little closer, in deliberate, measured paces. Stiles swallowed, but he didn't step back. He found that he didn't want to. He wanted to see what would happen now that he and Derek were finally this open to one another. No walls...

Derek stopped in front of him, but he seemed nervous again now. Stiles could see the walls slowly going back up, and the ball was in his court, he knew. Derek wanted to see what he would do...

Stiles raised a hand and placed it on Derek's arm.

"Derek," he whispered. "We can't just...

Derek stepped back, fearing rejection, but Stiles grabbed his arm gently.

"No wait," he continued. "That isn't what I meant. We have things to talk about. You've been in New York almost two years. What makes you ready now?"

Derek looked vulnerable, but he sat down and Stiles's bed, patting the spot next to him. He didn't say anything for a long time, staring at the floor with his hands together in thought. Finally, his eyes met with Stiles's again.

"I guess I owe you that much," he said, voice a little vulnerable. "You know its hard for me to express myself like this."

Stiles nodded, look understanding and soft.

"I have a...weird kink. I'm a werewolf, and you're a human. Something about humans has always attracted me. Its weird because I don't know if its your humanity that draws me, or your weakness and vulnerability. It was what attracted me to Paige. Kate was a little different. She wasn't weak, but still human. There was a challenge and a danger with her, and somehow that made it even more appealing."

Derek paused, and Stiles knew he was briefly revisiting the fire in his mind. He managed a gentle, knowing smile, meant to reassure. Derek sighed.

"In New York, when I was there with Laura, I explored my attraction to guys. I got with this guy named Dominic. He was a little older, but strangely I felt I needed that. Probably because of the emotional wounds I still carried from Kate. Dominic was gentle. He was safe..."

Derek inhaled, and Stiles knew this was very hard for him. He was opening himself like he had never done for Stiles. Stiles had wanted this from Derek for a long time- to see into his soul...

"I started to feel things for you after the pool," Derek spoke, voice cracking from nerves. "You didn't just need me. After you saved my life, finally I needed someone. It scared me, and I didn't want to get you hurt. I believed at that point that I would destroy anyone I love."

Stiles looked a little sad at that and adverted his eyes.

"So you stayed away from me all summer," he said knowingly.

Derek nodded and sighed.

"Then when I saw you and Scott again, when the alpha pack first came to town, I found the feelings at least manageable. Then he happened..."

Derek stopped, knowing this was like an open wound for Stiles. It was a trigger...

"The Nogitsune," Stiles said with a shudder, voicing it for Derek's sake.

"Yes," Derek replied. "When he controlled you, I felt like my heart could explode. I couldn't help you. I wanted to, but I was too late. None of us paid any attention to you..."

Derek jerked his head away in shame, and a single tear streaked down his face. Stiles wouldn't allow Derek to blame himself. Not for this...

He placed both hands on Derek's shoulders and squeezed gently, making the older man turn back to him. Their faces were close enough for their breathing to mingle.

"It was after that for me," Stiles spoke, deciding to change the subject. "I knew I found you attractive after the police station incident. My head on your chest...that night with the Kanima. I didn't think it was serious though. Just a boy crush that was even sillier than my crush on Lydia. Plus it was you. Then you were forced to kill Boyd while I watched in the doorway of your loft. I felt my heart expand with a thousand emotions. It had to be me that comforted you. I wouldn't let it be anyone else..."

Stiles stopped. His lips were slightly parted, and Derek was looking at his lips. Their gazes met again, and a thousand emotions exploded inside of both of them.

The feelings for Patrick welled up in him as a last defense, trying to stop this, but they were nothing. What Stiles was feeling for Derek in this moment was a thousand times stronger. It spoke of years of confused emotions, desire, and unrequited love.

Stiles and Derek moved in at the same time, and their lips connected in the softest of meetings.

Stiles moaned softly, seeing Patrick again, but the image burst apart as he opened fully to Derek. Derek released a rumbling moan from his chest and kissed Stiles more eagerly, letting go of years of longing for the younger man. Now he was his...


End file.
